Calm hands stuck in pockets
He passively sits
Looking down to the spot
Where he used to throw fits.
Cool, tanned and respected
He had to phone up and beg
A seat off some jobsworth
From the club he once led.
No gratis warm seat in a transparent box
No chic luncheon prior to the match
He who was worshipped now has to watch
The game like the rest of us fans
Angst and bad feeling
No longer concern
A bloke who was Godlike
When honours were earned.
He looks to the field and is smiling
As one of his signings has scored
Then pulls up collar hiding his face
The corner of drought has been turned.
New shape of team looks exciting
From sat high up here in the stands
The finishing clean and incisive
His players coached by a new man.
A few of the fans recognise him, and
Ask for his signature during the break
He signs on the back of their programmes
With a kind word and a friendly handshake.
When the team hit another at random
He stands, and makes his way to the gate
The side that was his has now been passed on
To another, who’s taken his place.
Walking down a cold concrete concourse
He watches tail end of game with the drunks
Who at first recognise, then choose to ignore
Him. After all their teams now out of a slump.
In the streets round the stadium
Where they sang out his name
When the trophys were hoisted up high
He can’t comprehend
How it came to such a sad end
Without a chance to bid, the clubs fans…..goodbye!